What happened?
by Bellamaus
Summary: When you wake up on the floor, naked, and with no memory of what had happened, well, then most likely you had way too much to drink last night. But if you're Mycroft Holmes, then the solution to the situation is not so simple.


Hi everyone!

This is not just my first Sherlock-fic, but also only my second one in english. I'm therefore not a native speaker, so, please forgive me if something may sound a bit off. But feel free to tell me when you find mistakes in my grammar or choice of words, after all I want to learn and give my best!

Okay, the story: well, first of all, I loved Mycroft from the first moment he appeared. Mark Gatiss is just brilliant in this role!

The idea came while watching Doctor Who. 'The Lazarus Experiment' with Mark Gatiss as Lazarus to be precise. The scene where Lazarus lays supposedly dead on the floor, on his front, totally naked, got me inspired. I was wondering what could possibly happen that Mycroft Holmes would lay naked on the ground, unconscious. And how would he react to that situation?

Well, this is, what I came up with. Hope you like it!

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I just borrowed them.

* * *

><p><em><strong>What happened?<strong>_

He wasn't really aware of the moment he awoke.

But he was definitely aware of the dull throbbing in his head that woke him.

And in that instant Mycroft Holmes wished he hadn't woken at all.

His mouth was dry and there was this strange taste on his tongue, his head was pounding and his whole body felt heavy. In other words, he felt as if he had the hangover of his live. Much worse than anything he'd ever experienced as an adolescent. He liked the taste of some specific alcoholic drinks, but he didn't like to indulge in them until his brain stopped functioning properly. So why was he feeling like he'd had a bottle of scotch infused directly into his veins?

He tried to remember last night – was it last night? His brow furrowed involuntarily while he was thinking, but even that little motion hurt his head. And on top of that he came up with nothing. No idea what had happened at all.

That's the moment when he realized that the soft surface he was lying on wasn't his bed. He knew the feeling of his mattress beneath him and this wasn't anything like it. He was somewhere else. But where? And why? It felt strange and disorienting not knowing where he was and what had happened. A feeling he really didn't like.

Slowly he opened his eyes, hoping that his surroundings would tell him anything. Everything around him was quite dark and blurry, his eyes needed a few seconds to finally adjust and get focused. It was a carpet underneath his cheek and hands. A beige carpet. He was lying on the floor. On the floor! He really needed to know what'd happened. What did he do to end up on the floor? Was he attacked?

Even in his fuzzy state of mind he only needed a moment to assess that he felt fine aside from his headache, so no further injuries. Maybe someone had hit him with a blunt instrument to knock him out and kidnap him. But his hands weren't bound. He could feel it, could see it, his right hand lay not even a foot away from his face. On this beige carpet. This very familiar beige carpet. He was in his living room. On the floor of his living room, in his own house.

So no kidnapping, not literally. Was he some kind of hostage? How the hell did someone get into his house? That's impossible.

He needed to know what'd happened, so he tried to move, first his hand, then a leg and that's when it hit him. His arm, the one next to his face, there was no sleeve of his suit or his shirt. And it wasn't just his arm, it was his whole body. He could feel the soft and warm material of the carpet all over his breast and stomach and legs and… everywhere.

He was naked.

Stark naked.

On the floor.

With a headache.

In his living room.

That didn't make sense. There was absolutely no situation that he could think of that would explain his current predicament. And that wasn't for lack of trying. His mind – well, his battered and fuzzy mind – would soon run into overdrive if he couldn't find a satisfying solution.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath. He had to be calm now. Slowly his heartrate came down a bit. And he became aware of another feeling, another soft material against his skin. There was a blanket draped around his midst, so at least he was as modest as he could hope for.

But did that mean that somebody else was here? Or had he placed the blanket there himself?

He had no idea. He still couldn't remember a single thing that led to all of… this. His aching head was no help at all.

He should try to sit up and get more data to assess. But first he grabbed the blanket with uncoordinated fingers and pulled it up over his torso as well. The room was rather hot regarding its normal temperature, but he felt a bit chilly all the same.

Now – with the warmth and security of the blanket – he dared to try moving. One step at a time he placed his hands next to his chest and pushed his body off the ground while pulling his legs beneath himself. He was sitting at last, in an awkward and uncomfortable way and with his back heavy against his couch, but sitting. While he pulled the blanket around his naked form again, he let his head drop onto the seat surface of the dark leather couch. The cool material soothed his throbbing pain a bit and with eyes closed the room wasn't spinning as much anymore. He felt absolutely awful, so the little groan escaping his lips was justifiable.

There was some rustling, but his mind didn't register it as important until…

"Are you feeling better, Sir?"

Startled he cringed and his head jerked up only to sink back against the couch with another groan when the spinning and the pain became to much. But his mind was working again.

He wasn't alone.

He'd been naked on the floor and not alone.

A terrible idea came to his mind.

But…

The voice belonged to a woman, and the moment he slowly opened his eyes and saw her slim figure nestled into his armchair, her long dark hair in little disarray and her dark, worried eyes he finally released the breath he wasn't even aware of holding.

So not what he'd thought for a moment. Thank God.

His personal assistant - to John Watson known as Anthea – was with him, not some unknown attacker, and by the looks of it she slept in this chair.

And in this painful and embarrassing moment his wellknown eloquency left him. The only thing that past his lips was a rather confused sounding croak of 'What?'.

He just didn't get this situation. Instinctively his hands pulled the blanket tighter around his body, covering more of his exposed skin in the process. Well, actually there's nothing she hadn't seen already, but still, he never felt very comfortable when naked in front of others, especially when in his living room with one hell of a headache and no memory at all.

And that's the point. He had no idea what brought him here, no idea what he'd done to end up naked on the floor, but it couldn't be good.

And most definitely Anthea knew.

That's why he couldn't look her in the eyes after his first glance. It was just too embarrassing.

"You should drink something." She said in a gentle and quiet tone. "Well, and I guess a painkiller wouldn't hurt either."

She pointed towards the table where he saw a glass of water and a little white pill next to it.

Grateful for this gesture but nonetheless a bit sheepish he swallowed the aspirin or whatever Anthea had given him and gulped down the blissfully cold water that took away the bitter taste on his tongue. He placed the glass back on the table and his head back on the couch. His eyes closed almost involuntarily.

He could hear Anthea moving and finally leaving. Oh how he'd like to just stand up and leave, too. The pain in his head was like a sharp knife in his brain and then there was this strange tingling and itching feeling all over his skin. All he wanted right now was a hot shower and clothes, for gods sake, and then an explanation.

But fate had something different in mind, because he'd never made it up the stairs let alone into the shower, not without help anyway. And this situation was embarrassing enough without asking Anthea to help him upstairs like some old men. He'd just had to wait until the painkiller kicked in.

Soft footsteps came back into the living room and he opened his eyes to his assistant and a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She placed it within his grasp on the table where the sweet aroma could tickle his nostrils.

"A spoonful of sugar and a touch of milk."

Just the way he liked his tea.

He managed a small smile and a thank you, before he sipped the delicious liquid. Somehow the tea helped him calm his nerves and gather his thoughts a bit.

At least enough to ask the question of the day:

"What happened?"

She took a seat in the armchair across from him, her face nothing but business, well mostly, there was still a little bit worry in her eyes that she couldn't hide.

"You collapsed and spent the night on the floor."

Well, that wasn't helpful at all.

"That's quite obvious. But why?"

Why did he collapse? And why was he naked while he collapsed? Or were his clothes removed after his collapse? Why didn't Anthea call a doctor when he'd collapsed?

He tried to remember last night, but there wasn't much, but at least more than twenty minutes ago. He remembered pain, a headache – if it was there before he collapsed then the pain wasn't an effect of a fall to the head – and there were vague memories of glaring lights and his skin on fire. But nothing concrete, only some impressions, flashing through his mind without order or meaning.

Anthea sighed. "You were at Baker Street. On our way back here you seemed unwell. Looked like a headache to me. The headlights of the cars seemed to make it worse, as much as loud traffic noises. So a bad headache then I guessed. You were also unsteady on your feet…"

* * *

><p><em>Her eyes scanned the area around 221b Baker Street, but the door was still closed and the window still open, so nothing has changed. She riveted back to the email she'd been typing on her Blackberry. After changing the meeting schedule of the next days to better accommodate Mr. Holmes other responsibilities she was done with work and actually started checking her private emails. It was getting late, but after this last errand she was free to go home. This job came with terrible hours, however the higher-than-average payment and lots of free time made up for it. And she got to work for a really fascinating man after all. <em>

_After sending the email she looked out of the window of the black Mercedes again. Still nothing. A small sigh escaped her lips. She could've been home already if Mr. Holmes hadn't suddenly changed his plans to visit his brother, a rather taxing specimen compared to her boss. You never knew how long this visits would take. _

_There was a movement. She turned her head back to the window, getting one good look at Mr. Holmes face – he had this special 'meeting with Sherlock'-expression on, half weary, half irritated – when he thought himself unobserved. There was a frown on his brow and he pinched the bridge of his nose. The worry for his brother would most likely someday ruin his health – mental or physical, both was possible. _

_Finally he flicked his umbrella forwards, heading towards the car, and got inside. Without words he signalled the driver to go home. _

_Every few moments she glanced sideways at him. Something was different. He wasn't alright. He leaned heavy in his seat, not at all like his usual stance that she like to call ‚professional nonchalance'. He hadn't said one word since he entered the car and there was this slightly strained expression on his face, as if he was in pain. _

_This was unusual. He always had perfect control over his facial expressions and body language, to never give anything away, never show any kind of weakness. Only at home he allowed his control to slip a bit. _

_The situation got even more out of the ordinary, when he started flinching and shutting his eyes each time the headlights of another car passed. And when the brakes of a nearby car were squealing he actually cringed. _

_Concerned about him she checked tomorrow's schedule again to look for possibilities of cancelling and rescheduling in case he should get sick. All the while she watched him out of the corners of her eyes. His head was leaning back now, his eyes closed and he had even loosened his tie, considerably. _

_She had never seen him like this, pale and with his body language so easy to read. As if he had forgotten that he was in his car, not alone at all and not in the private confines of his home. He very clearly had a headache. One hell of a headache by the looks of it. _

_Good thing he headed home then. _

_Tactfully she kept quiet throughout their drive. _

_Finally the car stopped. They'd reached Mr. Holmes city house. _

"_Lionel, take her home."_

_His voice was barely audible and he sounded exhausted. She almost felt bad for objecting. _

"_That can wait a few minutes longer, Sir. I'd feel better bringing you inside and knowing you're safe."_

_He said nothing, just got out of the car and headed for the door. His umbrella was still in the car. He never forgot his umbrella. _

_She hurried outside and after him, noticing his slightly unsteady gait – like his balance was a bit off – and the weird shrugging movements of his shoulders, almost as if the fitting of his clothes was off. Each observation fed her worry more. _

_She passed him, opened the door, closed it after he was inside and turned the lights of the entrance area on. The same instant he cringed again and covered his eyes with one hand. _

"_Don't." he whispered hoarsely. _

_Immediately she turned it off. It was a bit difficult to find her way in total darkness but she knew the place well and managed to turn on a small lamp that was illuminating a little desk with pens and a notepad. _

"_I think you should lie down, Sir."_

* * *

><p>"… I wanted you to take a painkiller and go to bed, but you headed for the living room. And you complained about your skin. You said it was itching and burning and your clothes would hurt you. I left you on the couch to get one of those painkillers…"<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>I'll bring you something for the pain and then you should go to bed and sleep."<em>

_Mycroft Holmes nodded absentmindedly, but at the same time he made his way slowly and with one steadying hand on the wall towards the living room. _

"_Wait… no, that's not…"_

_It was too late. He was already inside the room and wouldn't change his way anymore. Since she had to settle for the couch instead of his bed obviously she tried to help him when he stumbled a bit. As her hands made contact with his arm and shoulder he cringed, again. When he was finally sitting she headed for another small lamp, this one shining a warm light indirectly into one corner of the dark room that was only occupied by a comfortable looking armchair. It was Mr. Holmes favourite place for reading books in the summer. At wintertime he preferred the armchair in front of the fireplace. _

"_Don't you think your bed would be preferable to a leather couch?"_

_As she turned around again he had abandoned his tie and opened the top three buttons of his white shirt. His hand was carefully rubbing over his exposed neck, all the while he was flinching and wincing. _

_Her brows furrowed on their own volition. "Sir? Are you okay?"_

_He didn't react to her question. Like he hadn't heard her or had forgotten her presence. _

_She made her way back and knelt on the floor before him, careful not to startle him. _

"_Mr. Holmes? Mycroft? Are you feeling alright?" She tried again, now really concerned. _

_His eyes focused on her face, his gaze confused, his pupils dilated. Pain was written all over his face, in his eyes, the thin line of his mouth, the paleness of his skin, the wrinkles around his eyes and on his brow. And he seemed to have trouble concentrating. _

"_It's burning… all over… I… I have to get out of these clothes!"_

_Had she heard that correctly?_

"_Everything hurts… out…"_

_She looked at him anxious. She had never heard of clothes that burn you, let alone a stammering Mycroft Holmes. Was he high on something?_

_Eventually he shrugged his jacket of his shoulders and tried to get rid of it. Not knowing what else to do she helped him out of his jacket and his waistcoat, until she came to the conclusion that it would be best if he got to sleep soon and therefore she should really get some painkillers into his system to allow him the needed rest. _

"_Okay, listen. Lie down for a while and try to relax, okay? I'm looking for some paracetamol or something. I'll be back in a minute!" _

_He complied wordlessly and sank back on the couch. _

_Taking a deep breath she hurried out of the room towards his private bathroom where he kept all medicine. Maybe she should call for a doctor…_

* * *

><p>"… and when I got back you were already naked. You seemed to be in a lot of pain from your head. It happened so fast. You fell to the floor and lost consciousness before I could get to you."<p>

* * *

><p><em>She tried to make it quick, but of course she couldn't find the right pills because they weren't in the small cabinet over the sink in his bathroom, no, they were in the top drawer of his nightstand. <em>

_When she finally made it back to the living room, with a glass of water and a single pill in her hands, she stopped dead in her tracks, gasped startled and felt the glass slip out of her grasp. _

_He stood there, in the middle of the room next to the couch, swaying a bit, one hand gripping the backrest of the couch for support the other hand held his head. And he was stark naked. No socks, no briefs… not one single thing of clothing left on his body. _

_Well, actually there wasn't anything she hadn't seen already. That night some years ago. She'd worked for him for maybe a year and a half and she'd had this really bad week where her brother had rushed off to Japan without saying goodbye and her boyfriend had dumped her because of her job and all its secrecy. And Mr. Holmes had had this very bad day at work where some hostage situation had ended in disaster and possible international crisis. They'd both been frustrated and angry and she'd no idea what came over her, but the next moment she'd found herself kissing him. And then, one thing had led to another and before she knew it she woke up in the expensive linens of his bed, alone, but with the memories of an extraordinary night. A night they never talked about and that was never repeated. _

_The next second the glass shattered on the floor into thousands of pieces, dispersing water all over the floor and her shoes. _

_He cringed violently at the loud noise and put his head into both hands, groaning quietly. Reflexively he turned around to locate the cause of the noise, but his already affected balance couldn't cope with the sudden movement. He swayed heavily, tried to compensate with a step to the side, stumbled and finally toppled over onto the beige carpet. _

_Horrified she hurried towards his prone form. It had happened so fast. He lay on the ground – at least he fell on the soft carpet and not the hard wooden floor – on his front, his hands next to his head. His eyes were closed. Quickly she knelt next to him and touched his naked shoulder. _

"_Mr. Holmes? Are you okay? Mycroft?"_

_He didn't wake, but even unconscious he flinched away from her touch and moaned softly. _

* * *

><p>Mycroft closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. That was a lot to take in. An embarrassing lot. And ‚embarrassing' wasn't something he was used to.<p>

Well, but at least it seemed that no one had seen him like this except for Anthea and his earlier distress was only on display for her and his driver – if Lionel had noticed at all. If that wouldn't be the case Anthea wouldn't be so calm, she'd be on her phone, desperately trying for damage control.

He thought about it, tried to understand, what had happened, even though the painkiller wasn't working yet.

The symptoms Anthea had described and the few memories he had suggested some form of overload of sensory input. His senses couldn't cope with the information and transformed it into pain. At least some of his senses. Therefore the sensibility to light and sound and touch. But why would his senses suddenly go haywire?

And when he'd collapsed – most likely from a mixture of pain and balance issues – why hadn't Anthea called for a doctor? How could she just let him lie there on the floor, naked of all things – okay, she had at least covered his most private parts – and sleep next to him on the chair, totally relaxed? Had she known what had been going on with him?

No, that's not it.

Another thought hit him. Which doctor should she have called in that situation? One word about this to the wrong person could cost him his position, his influence, would make him vulnerable for blackmail. There was no one she could've trusted.

Well… except for one.

He opened his eyes and studied her face with a calculating look. His brow creased a bit.

She had called him. Doctor John Watson. The only one she could've trusted with his… predicament. But he wasn't here to look after his patient, which meant that…

She'd said he'd visited Baker Street before any of this had happened. He'd been at Sherlocks. Vague memories of caustic vapours completed his deduction.

And a small smile began to play around his lips.

* * *

><p><em>Something must've happened. Something out of the norm. <em>

_He'd been fine this morning, the whole day to be correct. No sign of weariness or headaches or anything. Just a normal day. Routine. _

_Something must've changed. Something must have happened to him. _

_Getting a headache, that's okay, but this severely? Including the feeling that your clothes burn your skin? And stripping as the only solution to that? And falling unconscious? And all of that just within an hour?_

_This can't be right!_

_Well, he visited Sherlock before everything started. Something must've happened there. She hasn't been inside, but she'd seen her boss opening the window of his brothers flat with one hand before his nose and mouth. As if protecting himself from a horrible stench. _

_Was that it?_

* * *

><p>His smile turned into a weary sigh that got Anthea to cock her head, bewildered.<p>

"I really shouldn't have given him that chemistry kit as a present for his seventh birthday."

She laughed.

A light and heartfelt laugh which made him grin against his will.

Well, when sitting on your living room carpet, clothed in only a blanket after waking up naked and with only fuzzy memories you cannot expect a men to be at his best regarding his control over his facial movements.

"Did he at least get his just deserts?"

She was still smiling when she nodded.

"I think so. It sounded like the doctor had some trouble with your brother while I talked to him. And he's definitely worse off than you."

* * *

><p><em>She knew she should call for a doctor or something, but she couldn't. <em>

_One look at her naked boss on the floor was enough to tell her that nothing of this was ever to leave this room. She wasn't worried about a picture of him like that in the newspapers – he was important and influential, but always a figure in the shadows, so the media would most likely not be interested in the picture of some rich guy nobody knew on his floor. _

_She was more concerned about word of this getting around in higher circles. One wrong impression could be enough to ruin his reputation. _

_Just some doctor or even an ambulance were therefore off the list. She needed someone she could trust with Mycroft Holmes. And there was just one guy that came to her mind. _

_In the blink of an eye she had her Blackberry ready at her ear, the number already dialled. _

"_Watson." _

_He sounded out of breath and a bit distracted. _

"_It's…" Oh fuck, what name had she given him when he'd asked her? Oh yeah, she remembered. „It's Anthea."_

_There was a strange groaning in the background on the other end of the line. _

"_Anthea? What… I mean…"_

_His stuttering was interrupted by a retching sound and a faint splashing. No doubt, somebody was throwing up, most likely Sherlock. _

„_I'm kind of busy at the moment."_

„_That's obvious, by the sound of it. But… Mr. Holmes needs a doctor."_

_The background noises at Baker Street were distracting her from what she wanted to tell him. _

"_Look… Anthea… as nice as it is that this time Mycroft lets you call me first and not just kidnaps me off the streets, but I…"_

_This time there was something rustling, then clanging, closely followed by a pained cry and a sigh from Watson. _

"_I really don't have time for Mycroft's extravagancy now, okay? If he really needs a physician, I'm sure there are lots of other qualified ones he can call. So…"_

_She had to do something or he'd hang up soon. _

"_That's not an option, Doctor Watson. I'm really sorry, but you are the only one…"_

"_What? You're kidding me, right? I'm sure he has… wait… he WOULD kidnap me off the streets and not… you sound worried… is he okay? Has something happened?"_

"_No, he's not okay. I've never seen him like this, he's… I don't know, what I should do…"_

"_Wait… Anthea? When I came home there was a black Mercedes down the street, was that Mycroft? Was he in Baker Street this evening?"_

_Her brow furrowed. She felt, that something would soon be revealed that would explain all this and she had this feeling that she wouldn't like it. _

"_Yes, he wanted to talk to Sherlock, I think about a case, but… why are you asking?"_

_Watsons voice sounded exhausted, irritated and resigned all at the same time. _

"_I suppose he breathed some of the infernal stuff in that Sherlock had concocted earlier as a byproduct of one of his experiments. Mycroft's got a headache and his senses are running a little bit high. I mean too much light or sound causes him pain, am I right?"_

_So it was Sherlock's fault. She allowed herself a small sigh before concentrating back on the situation. _

"_Yes, that's it. But… will he be alright? I mean, was this stuff he breathed dangerous?"_

"_He'll be fine, I guess. He'll maybe have a rough night, but his body should be able to get all of it out of his system in the next hours. Just see to it that he gets into a quiet and dark room – oh and make sure it's well heated 'cause he may feel more comfortable without his clothes, oversensitive skin and all. And give him something for the pain and hopefully he'll sleep it off."_

_She already felt a bit better knowing what was happening and that it wasn't life threatening, but he was still unconscious and it was her fault. A bit insecure and guilty she chewed on her bottom lip. _

"_Thanks Doctor Watson. And… erm… well, few minutes ago there was a loud noise and he got startled and tripped. He fell to the floor and now he's unconscious. What… could he'd hurt himself?"_

_She must really sound concerned because Watson's voice was suddenly in 'calming down the relatives'-mode. _

"_I'm sure everything's fine, okay? Did he fell on his head?"_

"_No." She remembered his fall in minute detail like a movie in slow motion. _

"_Then there is no immediate danger. Just be glad he IS actually sleeping unlike others. Keep him warm and give his senses as less stimuli as possible for the next hours. And if anything changes or if you're unsure what to do, call me."_

_Even in her gratefulness and relieve she felt sorry for him. Surely he had all his hands full with Sherlock if he was in the same condition as his brother but not out cold on the floor and still he had offered her his help, if needed. Maybe she shouldn't have warded off his advances back then in the car. Date the nice guy for once, not the exciting, out-of-the-ordinary guys…_

_Nah, that wouldn't make her happy on the long run. Just bored. _

"_I will. Thank you for your help, Doctor Watson. And… good luck with your patient."_

_She heard a snort then the line went dead. _

_With a small grin on her face she turned back to her 'patient' and quickly dialled another number. _

"_Hi Lionel. Call it a day, will you? – Yeah, he's not feeling very well, so I better stay here. Make sure everything's fine. – Thanks. Good night."_

_Her boss was a pitiful sight. His pale skin stood out against the dark room and the black leather couch behind his prone form and the soft beige of the carpet gave him a ghastly look. And his nakedness against all this 'good old english' flair of the furnishing… it just looked weird and kind of sad. She'd really experienced a lot of strange things, especially since working for Mycroft Holmes, but nothing like this. _

_She shook her head and went to work. She decided to turn the heating on, the warmth of a fire would be more pleasant, but it'd be bright and noisy. Next were the heavy and dark curtains. Most likely they've never been used to actually ward off the daylight, by the looks of it, but just ornament or not, the thick material was perfect for her cause. That task accomplished she searched the wall unit until she finally found a rather soft woollen blanket. She had intended to drape it over his body so he wouldn't be cold, but the radiator was actually doing its job quite well. So she knelt down next to her boss and just covered his midsection. He would feel bad enough when waking up in this situation so that's the least she could do. But even that light touch to his thighs and hip caused him to flinch. Which made her wince in sympathy. _

_Her gaze fell on the freckles on his shoulders and back, a smile gracing her lips. She remembered them from their night together all those years ago, and they still made her smile. Never ever had she imagined to find something she always associated with cheeky little children, sunshine and playfulness on someone so controlled and reserved as Mycroft Holmes. _

_Still smiling she tidied up the shards and water, placed another glass of water and a painkiller on the table, collected all his discarded clothes and threw them in the laundry basket. With one final glance at his sleeping form she made herself comfortable in his favourite winter- armchair by the fireplace._

_So much for her leisure-time. _

_Instead there were a long night and an embarrassing morning lying ahead of her. _

* * *

><p>He swallowed the last sip of tea and placed the cup back on the table.<p>

His head felt gradually better, the throbbing decreased to a dull ache and there was no longer any shooting pain in his temples when he moved his head more than a few inches.

It was time.

Time to get up, out of this mess and back to his normal persona.

He placed one hand on the couch – the other was holding the blanket in place – while he slowly struggled to get on his feet. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Anthea heading towards him, but with a short shake of his head he told her to stop. He would not need anymore help today, that was for sure.

Finally he stood on his own feet again, a tiny bit unsteady, but he did it.

Anthea was right in front of him, eyeing him warily. And suddenly he was very aware of the state of his clothing, or lack thereof. Indecisive of his next actions he shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. This situation was so out of his comfort zone that he just didn't know how to be his powerful, authoritarian, not bothered by anything self right now.

"Erm," – he had never started a sentence with 'erm' for as long as could remember – "you understand that it would be… for the better if we could keep this… incident… private."

Was that a smirk on her lips and a mischievous glint in her eyes?

He couldn't cope with that at the moment, so no, he decided there wasn't.

He manoeuvred around his furniture with caution and always with one hand on something to steady him. Just as he was about to finally leave the room to get this damn situation over with, she called after him.

"Sir?"

He stopped midstride, turning his head slightly over his shoulder. "Yes?"

Had she forgotten to mention another compromising detail of last night?

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at him.

"That diet was definitely a success!"

That was too much for him. He quickly turned and hastened to the stairs. After all this, he wouldn't want her to witness him – Mycroft Holmes – blushing.

_**End**_

* * *

><p>Any comments? You want to criticize? Or point out what you liked?<p>

I'm happy about any review! So please: press the button.

Bye and thanks for reading.

Bella


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